Author: Therin Knite
Genre: SciFi / Mystery
Washington
District of Columbia
United Republic of Earth
2712
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Then hotshot lawyer Victor Manson is burned to death in his own back yard, and Adem finds himself using his unique skills to piece together the strangest crime he’s ever seen. Strange because the only possible suspect Adem can pin the murder on…is a mythical beast. A dragon.
Before Adem can unravel the mystery of Manson’s death, the Bureau loses jurisdiction to the secretive EDPA, an organization that investigates weird and deadly events. But Adem isn’t one for giving up, so he takes it upon himself to delve deeper into EDPA’s machinations, into the series of unfortunate events that led to Manson’s demise.
And what he finds may change the way he views the world — and himself — forever.
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What do you do when a killer can hide behind his dreams?
What do you do when a murder weapon ceases to exist?
And how do you stop a villain who can conjure up nightmares and burn you from the Earth in the blink of an eye?
Adem Adamend is about to find out.
Excerpt
Half of Jin’s remaining drink disappears, and my it’s one of those days sense starts tingling. “So he picks the guy he trusts the least to do something that requires a tremendous amount of secrecy? Seems counterintuitive to me. Why not get Weiss to do it?”
“Weiss is too high profile. He gets caught? The Bureau is in hot water. I get caught? Brennian bails me out. It’s not like the world cares much for a first-year agent who gets in over his head. I’m not news. I can slip under the radar.”
He sits the now empty glass next to his plate and chews his bottom lip. “You need a hobby.”
“Solving cases is my hobby.”
“You need a therapist.” He grabs the pink concoction and takes a sip, grimacing. It’s something sour, and he hates sour things. But he’s going to drink it nonetheless.
“I’ve had several of those. My current one is lucky number thirteen.”
Jin chokes. “Thirteen?”
“Well, remember how I said I was mute for a year and a half? After…you know. The first five couldn’t get me to talk. The next four fled in fear after a few weeks of me reading them. I kept telling them what they ate for breakfast, where they’d been in the last six hours, like I was some psychotic, seven-year-old stalker. Of course, I didn’t know any better back then.” I stuff both chips in my mouth. “The tenth and eleventh refused to see me again after the introductory meeting. I liked the twelfth one though. Ms. Swanson. Useless but a very nice lady. Loves kids. She still sends me Christmas cards.” I steal a third chip. “My current therapist is the one assigned by the IBI. They still make me sit with him once a month. They’re concerned that the combined stress from my childhood trauma and the Jericho incident, as they put it, might trigger some belated psychotic break.”
Jin plants his face in his hands and laughs in disbelief. “You really need to get drunk.”
Half of Jin’s remaining drink disappears, and my it’s one of those days sense starts tingling. “So he picks the guy he trusts the least to do something that requires a tremendous amount of secrecy? Seems counterintuitive to me. Why not get Weiss to do it?”
“Weiss is too high profile. He gets caught? The Bureau is in hot water. I get caught? Brennian bails me out. It’s not like the world cares much for a first-year agent who gets in over his head. I’m not news. I can slip under the radar.”
He sits the now empty glass next to his plate and chews his bottom lip. “You need a hobby.”
“Solving cases is my hobby.”
“You need a therapist.” He grabs the pink concoction and takes a sip, grimacing. It’s something sour, and he hates sour things. But he’s going to drink it nonetheless.
“I’ve had several of those. My current one is lucky number thirteen.”
Jin chokes. “Thirteen?”
“Well, remember how I said I was mute for a year and a half? After…you know. The first five couldn’t get me to talk. The next four fled in fear after a few weeks of me reading them. I kept telling them what they ate for breakfast, where they’d been in the last six hours, like I was some psychotic, seven-year-old stalker. Of course, I didn’t know any better back then.” I stuff both chips in my mouth. “The tenth and eleventh refused to see me again after the introductory meeting. I liked the twelfth one though. Ms. Swanson. Useless but a very nice lady. Loves kids. She still sends me Christmas cards.” I steal a third chip. “My current therapist is the one assigned by the IBI. They still make me sit with him once a month. They’re concerned that the combined stress from my childhood trauma and the Jericho incident, as they put it, might trigger some belated psychotic break.”
Jin plants his face in his hands and laughs in disbelief. “You really need to get drunk.”
Author Bio
Therin Knite is a 22-year-old college senior who occasionally writes speculative fiction and has the odd delusion of literary stardom. Knite lives in a humble little place known as the Middle of Nowhere, Virginia and spends every possible second of free time reading books and writing what may possibly qualify as books. Echoes is Therin Knite’s first novel in what will be a futuristic sci-fi/mystery series.
Visit Therin Knite’s website at http://knitewrites.com
Giveaway
Win a signed print copy of “Echoes”. US only. Winner will be contacted through email.
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